


glass windows, steel blues

by fangedangel (clockworkqueen)



Series: T'Chucky Trash [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Adoption, Alexander Pierce is young here, Assistant!Bucky, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bucky is T'Challa's baby boy, CEO T'Challa, Coming Untouched, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time Together, Hurt/Comfort, Kids, Love, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Office AU, Possessive Behavior, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, T'chucky - Freeform, Weddings, WinterPanther - Freeform, but t'challa saves him, corporate world, happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-03 17:25:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6619645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clockworkqueen/pseuds/fangedangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>T'Challa is the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. Bucky is his new assistant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "savetheplanetboi said: Corporate World! Winterpanther where t'challa is a dominant, cool, beautiful suave CEO and bucky is the quiet young coffee boy and t'challa asks for a favor"
> 
> Thank you to my darling friend for prompting me with this! 
> 
> Just to be clear T'Challa is 39(like Chadwick) and Bucky is 23. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“Look, Marcie isn't here. Again. I won’t tolerate repeated failures. Fire her, and hire someone else. By tomorrow.” T’Challa placed the phone back on the hook with an irritated sigh.

It didn't used to be so hard to find reliable help. But the CEO of Wakandan Industries was finding it harder and harder to maintain a relationship with an assistant.

Maybe it was partially his fault. He tended to be a little…demanding. T'Challa lead a Fortune 500 company, what else did you expect?

Now that Marcie had suddenly run off, his whole day was all mixed up. He groaned at the stack of papers on his desk that he now had to take care of by himself.

If he didn't have a new assistant by tomorrow, someone else was getting fired.

*

The next morning wasn’t any better. No assistant meant no coffee, and no coffee meant an Unhappy T’Challa. He took his coffee a specific way, no drip for him. T’Challa was peculiar about some things. And his coffee was one of them.

He thought about ordering someone out to Starbucks, but he wasn't in the mood to talk to any lackeys. T’Challa sulked through presentations by those very same lackeys - numbers, data and metrics. Afterwards, he stormed his way back to his office, his employees avoiding him like the plague. T’Challa was a good and fair boss. But he had his days.

This was one of them.

T’Challa pushed open the glass door of his office. He looked up, and was surprised to see a pair of blue eyes staring at him.

There was a young boy in his office, holding a stack of papers, a coffee on the desk in front of him. When his eyes met T’Challa, he scrambled out of the chair in front of his desk nervously, almost bringing the stack of papers down. He moved closer, and put a hand out for T’Challa to shake.

“Hi, sir. I’m your new assistant, Bucky Barnes.”

He’d never had a boy assistant before.

T’Challa accepted the shake, pleasantly surprised by Bucky’s firm grip. “Pleased to meet you. I’m T’Challa. This is my company.”

Bucky smiled up at him, a couple of inches shorter. “I know - I’m a big fan.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” T’Challa wasn't too keen on having a ‘fan’ as his personal assistant.

“I’m a business major,” Bucky explained. “We do a whole unit on Wakandan Industries. You built this place from the ground up, and now you’re the best firm on the Eastern seaboard at the least, probably in North America,” he exclaimed.

“I know,” T’Challa said amusedly. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t like hearing it.” He leans back in his leather office chair, watching Bucky interestedly. “You must be pretty brilliant if they gave you the job.”

“Uh - well I do okay,” Bucky said, seemingly a bit embarrassed. “Oh! I almost forgot, I brought you this.”

Bucky pushed the lone Starbucks cup over in his direction, and he almost feels his mouth water. He’s so desperate at this point, he’ll drink anything.

“What is it?” he asks curiously.

“Cold brew, heated up. 1/3 almond milk one shot of caramel.” Bucky grins slowly. “Three ice cubes.”

T’Challa has it up to his lips in an instant, downing a third of the lukewarm beverage quickly. “Oh my god. Who told you?’

Bucky looks confused, and its an adorable look on him. “Told me what?”

“To bring me coffee?” He clarified. “That I hadn't had any, and my order?”

His face flushes. “I - uh. No one did. I read about it in BusinessInsider. About your order.” Bucky looks anywhere but at T’Challa’s face.

T”Challa is surprised. Floored. Few things surprise him these days. But kindness, genuine kindness always gets to him. Before he can stop himself, T’Challa is reaching across his large desk. He tilts Bucky’s chin up so he meets his eyes, the boys cheeks somehow becoming even pinker.

“Hey,” he said softly. Bucky finally meets his eyes. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.” T’Challa lingers for a moment, fingers touching a bit of stubble that seemed to want to grow in. Up close, Bucky was even more striking, fair-skin waiting to be marked, and lovely cheekbones. His eyes were beautiful, and his hair was that in-between length; seemingly unsure if it wanted to be long or short.

T’Challa backs away slowly, feeling a little warm himself. “Thank you, Bucky. Honestly. I really needed that today. You are appreciated.”

Bucky smiles. And he never _ever_ forgets T’Challa’s coffee.

*

Bucky is brilliant.

A senior in NYU’s cutthroat business school. Recently voted one of the schools top young minds of the year. A candidate for valedictorian later in the spring. But throughout his impressive resume, were examples of his kindness.

Bucky volunteered several hours a week at a hospice care facility. He organizes an annual walk for suicide prevention. He even was responsible for some of NYU’s more recent plans for inclusion, after being inspired by his best friend Steve Rogers and his partial deafness.

T’Challa was enamored.

Because through it all, Bucky was adorably shy. Humble to the point where T’Challa questioned his self-esteem levels. He worked just as late as T’Challa did(so he made a point to leave at a reasonable hour). He smiled easily, lighting up when praised.

All T’Challa wanted to do was press the boy up against the glass windows of his office, and give him the kissing of his life. He wanted to mark Bucky’s throat, make sure everyone who saw knew that the boy was his.

He can’t remember the last time he fell this hard.

T’Challa wants Bucky. But he can’t have him.

He’s his boss, he’s at least fifteen years older than him - he can’t, he won’t bring Bucky down with him. He’s got his whole life ahead of him.

But every time he looks at Bucky, T’Challa wonders if he’s smiling like that for someone else. If anyone else gets to see that lovely color in his cheeks.

“Great work on that presentation, Bucky. Everyone loved it.” he says.

Bucky blushes, and T’Challa wants to kiss each of his red cheeks. “Did you? Like it, I mean?” he asks, to T’Challa’s surprise.

“Aren’t I everyone?” T’Challa says haughtily. Bucky laughs. “Yes, of course. You’re very talented.”

Bucky mumbles a thank you, but doesn’t look away, remembering his rule from their first meet.

 _‘Good boy.’_ he thinks.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone is hurting Bucky. And that just won't fly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK. So Alex Pierce is Bucky's boyfriend who is abusing their d/s dynamic. So TW for abuse. 
> 
> I've never written anything with this sort of dynamic that Bucky is developing with T'Challa. 
> 
> I hope y'all like this though!

Everyone at the office had noticed T’Challa’s mood had drastically approved. Even T’Challa himself had picked up on his own positivity. He could attribute it to his yoga classes or getting out of the office earlier. But he knew that it was all Bucky.

Bucky, who greeted him every morning with his coffee and a shy smile. He was so much more than an assistant, Bucky knew his stuff. T’Challa soon begun to ask him for his opinion, out of curiosity. And he wasn't surprised when Bucky offered him solid answers with concrete support.

Of course, for whatever reason, Bucky didn't seem to like offering his opinion. He’d only do it when T’Challa presented it as a direct order, and he would, blushing all the while. Bucky liked to follow his lead.

The thought made T’Challa hot under the collar.

He spent a bit more time with Bucky than he had with his past assistants, though of course Bucky didn't know it. They’d grab lunch together, pour over complicated documents together. Truthfully, he was the best company T’Challa could ask for. Beautiful and intelligent. Bucky had a darker sense of humor similar to his that you had to listen for. Outside of his office, Bucky was shy and humble.

T’Challa was appropriately charmed.

They established a routine that worked for both of them pretty quickly, rarely deviating from it. So when Bucky was late one day, T’Challa was concerned.

He worried for a bit, before picking up his personal phone and giving Bucky a call. There was no answer.

Something could've happened to him. Bucky could've been hurt. He could be -

T’Challa took a deep breath. Here he was, worrying about Bucky like he was _his_ to worry about. He could worry about Bucky as an employer, as a friend. But Bucky wasn't his. He couldn't be.

For the next hour or so, T’Challa barely got any work done. He kept thinking about Bucky lying dead in the street somewhere. He was just considering organizing some sort of search, when the door to his office banged open.

Bucky burst into the room, looking nervous and flustered. His clothes were more rumpled than usual, like he hadn't had time to get himself together properly. He was carrying T’Challa’s coffee though, and he placed it on the desk, refusing to make eye contact.

A wave of relief washed over T’Challa when he saw that Bucky was safe. But he was also faintly annoyed, where had he been? He was about to ask when he noticed that Bucky was pointedly turning his face away from him, as if shielding his left side from him.

A wave of apologies burst out of Bucky. But T’Challa wasn't listening. He was looking at the dark brown hair covering Bucky’s left eye.

“Bucky.” he said sharply, causing the boy to go silent.

“Yes, sir?” he asked nervously.

“Your eye. Let me see.”

Bucky looked surprised, but strangely enough, even more nervous. Almost fearful. “No, sir. It’s fine. I just, I bumped my head. On the car when I was getting out of my taxi yesterday. I’m fine, I swear.”

“Bucky.” he said again, warningly, not happy that he had to ask twice.

Bucky swallowed, but pushed his hair back behind his ear, meeting T’Challa’s eyes for the first time.

Dark purple bruising surrounded Bucky’s left eye. The discoloring extended to his cheekbone and part of his nose. His eyelid was swollen.

“Jesus,” T’Challa swore. He was up in an instant, across the room. Bucky stepped back a bit, and almost tripped over where his bag sat on the floor.

T’Challa caught him before he could go sprawling into the ground, his cheeks heating up. He examined the bruising on Bucky’s face, now that he was closer up. It looked like it was hurting.

“You need medical attention,” he deduced.

“No!” Bucky exclaimed. “I mean,” he took a steading breath. “No, sir. I don’t like doctors.” He wrung his hands, perhaps worried that T’Challa would make him go.

“Hey, don’t worry. I won’t make you go anywhere you don’t want to,” he smiled kindly, though inwardly concerned. “How about we take a walk down to CVS. You put anything on it?”

Bucky relaxes. “No. I didn't have time.”

“Well, you were late.” He jokes, though Bucky clearly doesn’t take it as one, going pale. T’Challa raises a hand to stop him before he can begin apologizing again.

“I was kidding. But seriously, you need to take better care of yourself.” _Since I can’t_ , he thought.

“Alright, sir,” he agrees. “But I am sorry for being late,” he says quickly. “After I hit my head, I went to…to lay down because of the pain. I fell asleep and forgot to set my alarm. It won’t happen again.”

“No worries, Bucky.”

They leave his office together, deigning to walk. The fresh air is good for them, and its comfortable despite their silence.

At CVS, T’Challa purchases some antiseptic and some frozen vegetables he could make into a cold compress. He asks if Bucky is in any pain, and he shakes his head before really thinking about it.

T’Challa gives him a look, and he blushes furiously.

“Maybe a little.” he admits.

He grabs a package of aspirin as well, and tells Bucky to go pick out some candy for them to share.

At the register, Bucky begins to pull out his wallet, but T’Challa gently pushes him aside, pulling out his black card and handing it to the woman at the register.

They walk back out into the streets, somewhat quiet for New York, what with it being the middle of the work day. Outside of Wakandan Industries, T’Challa stops him.

“Don’t lie to me,” he says slowly. “Ever.”

Bucky shivers.

“And don’t ever pull your wallet out with me. Understood?”

Bucky nods shakily.

Upstairs, T’Challa directs Bucky to sit on the desk. He pulls out the antiseptic and a couple of cotton balls from his desk, gently and carefully cleaning Bucky’s eye.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, little he can do about the pressure on Bucky’s tender face. “That car door must have hit you really hard,” he comments.

“Yeah, I was distracted,” he explains, looking every bit distracted right now, watching T’Challa’s hands on his face. Finally, he moved away and Bucky seemed disappointed. He came back, with water and two aspirin for Bucky.

In his desk was a spare t-shirt, that T’Challa pulled out to wrap around the frozen vegetables. he passed it over to Bucky who accepted the items gratefully.

Bucky put it up to his eye, and it was only then did T’Challa pull out the candy, chocolate covered blueberries. T’Challa approved of his choice.

He poured a handful into Bucky’s hand, who took them with a grin, popping them one handedly into his pink mouth.

“You did good,” he praised. “Stay out of trouble,” he cautioned. _For me._

*

Thankfully, Bucky listened. His bruise faded and then disappeared all together. And as far as he could tell, his boy stayed whole.

Sometimes, he arrived at work in varying moods, which did worry T’Challa. Somedays, he'd be walking on air. Other days, he'd be down in the dumps, only perking up when he had someone to interact with. Like T’Challa.

They were out to lunch today, stopping at a bodega that the employees of Wakandan Industries frequented. Each of them picked out a sandwich, when Bucky noticed a bag of seaweed chips on the counter.

“My boyfriend loves those!”

T’Challa freezes.

He manages, just barely, to not let his emotions show on his face. “I didn't know you were in a relationship,” he says steadily. “Tell me about him?”

“Oh, uh. His name is Alex Pierce. He just graduated last year.” Bucky seems to be holding back. “He’s an engineer.”

“Is he nice?” T’Challa asks.

Bucky seems very surprised by his question. “Uh, yeah? Yes.”

T’Challa puts their food on the counter to be rung up. “Do you want to get them for him?”

He stares at the seaweed chips for a moment, seemingly pondering them. But he shakes his head. “No. No it’s alright.”

*

That night, yoga was not enough for T’Challa.

He retreated to his weight room in the basement of the building, the one part not explicitly decorated. There’s a red bag in the center.

T’Challa wraps his hands, and steps up to the bag.

It was difficult before. Difficult, when he wasn't even sure that any affection he had for Bucky would be returned. But now, now that he knew Bucky was into men, it was unbearable. Every time he shut his eyes, he could see Bucky. His body. Being touched by another man.

He punched and kicked the bag until he couldn't anymore, and retreated to bed, not bothering with a shower.

Bucky followed him into his dreams, too.

*  
Occasionally, Bucky brought up this Alex Pierce. But rarely though, about as often as T’Challa brought up his ex-wife.

He’d married a Swedish runway model in his twenties, because it was expected of him. They weren't compatible outside of the bedroom though, so they'd cordially divorced. They stayed in touch, good friends now. They were better as friends, and still met up every few weeks so she could kick his ass, the one who'd gotten him into boxing in the first place.  
Bucky had asked to see a picture of them, so he showed him one in which he was dressed in all black, and her in all white, at a gala.

“She’s gorgeous. You made a lovely couple.” Bucky said.

She was. But she wasn't Bucky. He imagined Bucky hanging off of his arm at a fancy party, dressed to the nines in something T’Challa picked especially for him.

Afterwards, T’Challa would take Bucky back to his bed, and divest him of those very clothes. He would run his hands all over his body, making him lose it before T’Challa allowed him to come undone.

In front of him, Bucky was still staring dopily at the photo. “You really can wear a suit, can’t you?” He grinned.

*

“Are you alright?” T’Challa asked Bucky one day.

He looked up from his laptop distractedly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

T’Challa got a feeling he wasn’t. There was some bruising on his face again, around the right eye this time. It would be difficult for someone else to notice, but T’Challa knew makeup when he saw it. Bucky was covering it up.

More than that, he'd seemed distraught when he’d arrived that morning. Hands shaking as he passed T’Challa his coffee, nursing his own vent cup - he usually preferred independent shops. Bucky sipped it like a lifeline, looking like he hadn't gotten any sleep.

T’Challa wanted to say something, badly. But he held it in. Because Bucky still wasn't his. Hopefully, his boyfriend, was watching out for him.

But it got later and later, and Bucky seemed less and less inclined to leave the office. He kept picking up fresh work to do, checking and double checking figures.

He watched him amusedly for awhile, but eventually, he realized that Bucky didn't want to leave.

“Shouldn't you be out with some friends?” T’Challa asked lightly. “Steve? Alex?”

Bucky made a face. “Steve and I…are having an argument.”

T’Challa raised an eyebrow in surprise. “May I ask what about?” Bucky had never mentioned a disagreement with his close friend before.

He shook his head. “It’s complicated.”

“Alright,” T’Challa says, never one to pry. “But seriously, it’s getting late. Let’s get out of here.”

Bucky looked up from the paperwork, smiling shakily. “I’m fine. You go home sir, there’s just a few things I need to take care of and then I’ll be out of here. Go and enjoy your night.”

“Are you trying to get me to leave my own office?” He chuckled.

“No, sir.” he said, blushing.

“Well you should go home,” he says gently.

Bucky shuts his eyes. “I can’t,” he says shakily.

“Why’s that?” Instantly, T’Challa is concerned.

“He - he took my keys and threw them out the car window. I was bad I - “ Bucky gasped, like talking was physically painful. “I was bad, so he punished me. But now I can’t get in my house. I gotta call one of those lock people but I can’t I don’t - “

T’Challa is in front of him an instant, holding each of Bucky’s shoulders firmly. “Who?” he asks, struggling to keep the rage he felt locked up inside him. “Who’s ‘he’?”

Bucky stared up at him from his seat, wide eyed. “Alex. But it was my fault I didn’t - I was bad.”

He brought a careful hand to Bucky’s face, cautious of the bruising under his makeup. “You’re going to tell me exactly what happened. Now.”

Bucky struggles to get the words out. “It’s my fault, really. He hit me in the face and - I, I don't like that.” he looks down at his lap. “It doesn’t make me feel…owned. It makes me feel worthless,” he whispers.

T’Challa is silent. He’s going to kill -

“Oh god, I’m sorry. I shouldn't be telling you this, sir.”

“Tell me,” he almost growls, and Bucky’s fair skin goes red, right before his eyes.

“I yelled at him. And he got mad. I’m supposed to obey. He said he forgot. But he’s done it before. We went to dinner later, and I thought we were over it. But I told the driver my address, and he - he said no. He - Alex, threw my keys out of the window. Said I didn't need them and that we were going to his place.”

T’Challa’s hands didn't leave Bucky’s body, and they seemed to ground him.

He sighed. “He’s done stuff like that before - scary stuff to like, get me in the mood,” Bucky refused to meet his eyes. “But he was actually being scary. I usually let him hit me, but he was begging for me to let him hit me in the face. I said no and he stormed out. I gathered my things and got out of there.”

Bucky’s entire body was shaking now. But now that he’d confessed, he relaxed into T’Challa’s hold completely, body slackening.  
T’Challa pulled him up and into his hold, letting the smaller boy draw as much comfort from his body as possible.

Bucky’s shaking began to slow, but that’s when the tears began to fall. T’Challa ran one hand though his hair, and the other in soothing circles across his back. Eventually, he began to calm, and pulled away. Instantly, T’Challa began to miss his warmth.

“He was wrong,” T’Challa spoke quietly. “He wasn't treating you right, Bucky. Alex was abusing you. I’m not going to let anything like that happen to you again. Ever again.”

Bucky shivered, but controlled himself. “But why? Why do you care?”

T’Challa slammed a hand on his desk. “Damn it, Bucky! I care because I care about you. I want you.”

Bucky stares at him, shock written all over his face. “Me?” he asks. “You want me? You’re perfect and I’m just…” He shakes his head.

T’Challa laughs, barely able to believe that he's having this conversation. “Bucky. You’re brilliant. And funny and gorgeous. Beautiful, really.” He looks at where his hand is still intertwined with Bucky’s. “You’re out of my league.”

Bucky gazes at him somewhat hazily. “Do you really think that?”

T’Challa grins, loving how quickly praise got to him. “Yes. You’re smart as whip. You know this stuff better than some people who’ve worked here for years. Everyone smiles when you enter a room. I smile, Bucky. You’re so striking, so pretty. All I’ve wanted to do since we first met is kiss you.”

He moans lowly in response, knees seeming to weaken. “Then do it,” Bucky gasps. “Kiss me. Please,” he begged.

T’Challa couldn't refuse. He hoisted Bucky up into his arms, wrapping Bucky’s legs around his back, causing him to whimper. T’Challa was almost below him, and he looked into Bucky’s eyes, dark with want. He spins around and presses Bucky’s body into the floor to ceiling glass window of his office.

Bucky moans again when he feels the cool glass against his back, and that’s when T’Challa decides to capture his lips, swallowing down the sound.

Their tongues battle for dominance, though its just a game. They both know who’s in charge here. Bucky’s hands run up and down T’Challa’s back, clawing at his shirt, desperately needing to feel skin.

They pull away, only when it gets too hard to breathe. T’Challa kisses the pale column of Bucky’s throat, hearing the delicious sounds the boy made, as well as tasting them beneath his tongue.

“T’Challa,” he gasped, getting his attention. “I like you too. A lot. But I was never gonna act on it. So, thank you. Thank you sir,” he moaned.

T’Challa pulled away from his neck slowly, giving him one last nip.

“So you want this?” he asked. “You want to be mine? You want to be my boy?”

Bucky’s eyes roll back in his head, and he becomes even more of a noodle in T’Challa’s arms. “Yes. God, yes. Please sir. Please. I need it - I need you.”

T’Challa shushes him. “Alright. Bucky? Here’s what were going to do. You listening baby?”

It takes him a moment, but Bucky nods.

“Good boy. I’m going to take you back to my place. You’re going to eat what I prepare for you. And I’m going to clean up that eye,” he said. “You can’t hide that from me.”

Bucky flushes, but its the kind where he knows he's been bad. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry sir. Don’t be mad.” He seems to cower away from T’Challa in his hold, and T’Challa has never been more livid.

“Bucky. Baby. God, I’m never going to hit you. Never. I’m going to kill him, I swear it.” T’Challa whispers.

He smiles a little, snuggling back into T’Challa’s arms. “I’m sorry. And please don’t. It’ll be hard to touch you if your in jail.”

“Touch me, huh?” he asks. “Is my baby boy getting fresh with me?”

Bucky blushes, and its the good kind. T’Challa kisses each of his cheeks. “Yes, sir.” he replies boldly.

“You can sit on my lap in the car, if you like. Would you like that?” T’Challa asks.

Bucky nods very seriously. “Yes. Sir I would really like that.”

T’Challa puts him down gently, steading him when his knees don't seem like cooperating. “Alright, but no funny business ok? I’m putting you to bed after dinner.”

“Yes, sir,” he agrees.

In the car, Bucky sits on T’Challa’s lap, facing him. His arms are wrapped around T’Challa’s shoulders, fingers in his shirt. T’Challa holds his baby close, and kisses his neck gently because he just can’t help himself; its right there.

Bucky doesn’t seem to mind.

He marvels at T’Challa’s place, a New York penthouse. It’s not his favorite home, he prefers to be out of the city. But it will do, and Bucky seems to like it well enough, a New Yorker to the bone.

T’Challa cooks up something quick, as he'd dismissed the staff before their arrival. Bucky asks for pasta, and T’Challa wouldn't dream of denying him. He makes a salad as well, to keep his baby healthy.

He brings the plates to the table, and Bucky falls to his knees next to T’Challa’s chair.

“Hey, now. None of that.”

Bucky looks up at him, clearly surprised. “You don't want me to eat down here?”

“Not particularly. Do you want to?”

Bucky shakes his head, and carefully gets up, sitting in the chair beside T’Challa.

“Did he make you…?” T’Challa asked, certain he knew the answer.

He nods. “Sometimes. Not all the time. But yeah.”

T’Challa grips his fork tightly. “Why did you let him? If you didn't like it?” he asked. Suddenly, he’s sad. So sad.

Bucky shrugs. “It wasn't about me. Not really. It was about what he liked.”

“No. Not with me. This is all about you. All for you. Something you don't like, you’re going to tell me.” T’Challa paused. “Or I’ll have to punish you.”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky gasped.

They eat the rest of dinner quickly, stealing glances at each other. Once finished, T’Challa brings him to his room.

It’s a large space, but mostly empty except for a large bed covered in dark linens, and a matching sofa in one corner. There was an attached bathroom and a large closet that Bucky gaped at. Abstract art decorated the walls.

T’Challa gathered supplies to clean Bucky’s eye, and under the makeup, the bruising was darker, extending down his right cheek.

“Where else? Where else did he hurt you?” He’s squeezing the bottle of antiseptic tightly. “Show me,” he demands.

Bucky shucks his clothes quickly, and T’Challa takes in every inch of skin as its revealed. He’s beautiful, lightly muscled. Long, glowing limbs. Every inch of him just begging to be kissed.

There are bruises too. Dark ones, recent. Lighter ones too. On his abdomen, and some on his chest and upper thighs. It was like he'd been getting punched. He had been getting punched.

Anger surged up in T’Challa, and he pushed Bucky back into the bed. He kissed his scarred cheek first, and then moving further down. He touched his lips to every single bruise, his clothed body covering Bucky, who was naked except for his briefs.

T’Challa ran his hands up and down Bucky’s body. His soft skin went on for miles. He wanted those marks gone so he could mark him up proper. “Mine,” he said into Bucky’s skin. “You’re mine, right?”

Bucky rocked his hips up to meet T’Challa’s covered body. “Yes, sir!”

“And you’re a good boy, right?”

Bucky was shaking and moaning between him, halfway gone from just a bit of stimulation. “Yes, sir. I’m your good boy, I promise.”

“Then what did I say earlier?” T’Challa whispered into his ear.

He shuddered, struggling to remember. “You said…you were gonna put me to bed. But no, sir. Please, no. I need it,” he whined, tears springing up in his eyes.

T’Challa rocks his covered cock into Bucky’s hip. “You don't think I do? You don't think I want to make you mine? I do. But you need to get the sleep you didn't get last night. Can you be a good boy for me and go to sleep? I promise I’ll fuck you tomorrow. Alright baby boy? Are you going to be good for me?”

Bucky whimpered, but nodded. “Yes. I’ll be good, I promise.”

T’Challa placed a chaste kiss on his lips, and got off of Bucky. Bucky whined, trying to pull him back.

“i’m not going anywhere, I swear. Just going to get out of these clothes and find you a shirt. I don't want you to get cold.”

He nods, and T’Challa can feel Bucky’s eyes on him as he stripped. He smirked. Dirty boy. T’Challa finds a shirt for each of them, and pulls the comforter back. They both slip under it, Bucky immediately curling up to T’Challa.

T’Challa’s heart warms at the sight. He snuggles him closer, happily becoming the big spoon. He presses a kiss to the top of Bucky’s head.

“Thank you,” Bucky whispers. “Thank you, sir.”

“Go to sleep, baby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know your thoughts! v nervous :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky becomes T'Challa's. Time passes. T'Challa is always Bucky's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally figured out what I wanted to do with this! They get together, and then there are snapshots of their lives together. This is the end of this for now - thank you so much for coming along for the ride - but I am so not done with this AU. Visit me on tumblr at heckyeahwinterpanther where I will surely be adding to this AU. Let me know your thoughts! :D

There is a warm weight on one side of T’Challa’s body, and he pulls it closer instinctively before he can identify it. A warm laugh forces him to open his eyes.

Bucky is looking at his face, grinning a little. T’Challa presses a kiss to those lips, unable to help himself.

“Morning,” he said.

“Good morning,” Bucky replied, snuggling closer.

T’Challa ruffled his hair gently, and allowed further cuddling even though it was already past the time he usually stayed in bed.

He grew quiet very quickly, turning his face away from T’Challa. “You ok?” he asked gently, checking in.

Bucky sighed. “I’m an idiot.”

T’Challa snorts. “Yeah, that deal you helped me make last week would say otherwise. I might as well fire everyone else in the building.”

Next to him, Bucky rolls his eyes, but the compliment does what its supposed to do. “No, I mean…remember when I told you Steve and I got into a fight?”

“Yes. What happened?”

“When I first started…dating Alex, Steve didn't like him. Said he was bad news, and that he had a reputation. But I didn't listen, because all I could see was that he wanted to treat me the way I wanted to be treated,” Bucky said quietly. “But with him it was all the time. And he hurt me. Steve saw the bruises one day. He lost it.”

“Steve said he didn't know if he could be my friend if kept letting myself get… abused. Of course, he sent me a text to check in everyday. Thought I was gonna get myself killed. I should've listened. Why didn't I listen?” Bucky said brokenly.

He begins to shake in T’Challa’s arms.

“Hey,” T’Challa tilts his face toward his. “Listen to me. Steve was right. You should've listened to him. But no ones going to hurt you, because you didn’t. Alright?”

Bucky nods slowly. “Thank you.”

“You hungry?” T’Challa asks, sensing that Bucky is finished with the conversation.

“Always,” Bucky leans over and kisses him on the mouth.

T’Challa wrinkles his nose. “Eww, morning breath,” he teases.

Bucky looks appropriately affronted. “You kissed me ten minutes ago!”  
“There’s a difference.” he jokes, getting out of the bed.

Bucky vaults out of bed after him. “I’ll show you morning breath.”

As it turns out, T’Challa didn't mind much.

*  
They showered, separately to Bucky’s chagrin. T’Challa had called the office, letting them know that he wouldn't be in. Bucky didn't have to let anyone know but T’Challa.

“Hey boss, I’m taking a personal day.” Bucky joked.

“Oh, don’t I know it.” he smirked.

In the kitchen, T’Challa’s personal chef was preparing breakfast. When she noticed Bucky sitting at the table as well, she made a second plate, no fuss.

“Thank you,” Bucky said shyly when she placed his breakfast in front of him. “I’m Bucky, by the way.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Bucky? T’Challa’s beautiful blue-eyed assistant?” She made a show of looking into his eyes, to Bucky’s amusement.

“This must be the one. Nice to meet you, hun.” She left the room, and Bucky turned to T’Challa.

“You talk about me? To other people?” he asked, seemingly surprised.

T’Challa nodded. “Of course. And I’ll keep talking about you, as long as you’ll let me.”

Bucky blushed, looking down at his plate.

*  
They spent most of the day curled up on the sofa in front of T’Challa’s flat screen. Exchanging lazy kisses and watching movies. Bucky seemed happy.

Every time they touched lips, Bucky was itching for them to go further, pressing the line of his body into T’Challa. But he wasn't having it, and pulled away every time Bucky got too close.

He didn't know that he would like teasing his baby this much. But every time T’Challa backed away, Bucky would whine deliciously, like the sweetest treat in the world was being taken away from him.

T’Challa still wasn’t completely sure what Alex did with, did to - Bucky. He wanted to make Bucky his. But he wanted to make sure this was something Bucky really wanted, not just what he thought was expected of him.

His submissive tendencies may make it a bit harder for him to explicitly show T’Challa what he wanted. Especially when every tease made Bucky’s eyes glassier, ignoring the movie completely, simply staring up into T’Challa’s eyes from where he lay his head in T’Challa’s lap.  
Bucky shifted around a bit, and T’Challa assumed he was just getting more comfortable, his eyes still on the TV. So when he felt a touch to his cock, he nearly jumped in surprise. Bucky was nuzzling his clothed cock gently, panting lowly like he already had something in his mouth.

“Please, sir,” Bucky begged, looking up at him imploringly. “Can I taste it?”

“You want it? You want my cock in your mouth?”

Bucky nodded. “Yes, please. I want it so bad. Please T’Challa, please.”

T’Challa shushed him, running a gentle hand through his hair. This was what he was looking for. “I can’t deny my baby. Take it out and suck on it. I know you want to.”

He moaned gratefully, and pulled T’Challa’s sleep pants down around his ankles. Bucky gasped at the sight of his cock, shivering. “I need it in me, sir, please.”

T’Challa frowned. “You wanted it in your mouth.That’s where it’s going.” He paused. “If you do a good job, I might fuck you.”

Bucky shuddered, eyes darkened with want. He kneeled in between T’Challa’s legs, and went to town.

He licks curiously at the tip, groaning when he’s first able to taste him. Bucky sucks on the head, reacting violently when T’Challa put out a hand to softly touch his scalp. At first, T’Challa thinks he doesn’t like it, and begins to pull away, but Bucky tentatively reaches out before he can go to far.

“Please,” Bucky whispers, lips already a darker shade of pink. “Fuck my throat.”

T’Challa groans. “Fuck. You sure, baby?”

Bucky nods furiously, and T’Challa grips the back of Bucky’s neck; somehow both firm and gentle.

He swallows T’Challa’s cock as its forced into his throat. Bucky is breathing in harshly through his nose, gasping loudly whenever T’Challa lets him up for air.

T’Challa praises him endlessly as he sucks, whispering about what a good job he’s doing. How he's such a pretty boy. So good.

His cock hits the back of Bucky’s throat and he rests it there, gagging around him continuously, tears springing to his eyes.

T’Challa rocks his hips gently, fucking past his gag reflex, and Bucky cries out around him, body seemingly going slack.

He pulls out of his mouth quickly, checking his baby over. “Buck? Did I hurt you? Are you alright?”

Bucky looked anywhere but at him. “I’m fine, sir. I’m sorry.” His cheeks were flushed pink.

“Sorry for?”

“I came,” Bucky whispered. And when T’Challa looked, there was a slowly spreading wet spot in Bucky’s borrowed pants.

“Oh, baby. You liked it that much?” he asked, a fresh wave of excitement running through him.

Bucky nodded.

“That makes me happy. I didn't say you couldn't come. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Wanna take this to the bed, baby?” T’Challa asks, helping a shaky Bucky off of his knees and onto his feet, wrapping him in his arms.

Bucky nods, looking at T’Challa like he hung the moon. T’Challa didn't feel that he deserved it.

“And you still want to play? You want me to make you mine tonight?”

“Yes, god yes, sir. Please.” Bucky whined.

T’Challa kissed his forehead softly, and tugged his willing body down the hall to his room.

Bucky sinks down to his knees again, and T’Challa tugs him to his feet, with a shake of his head. “On the bed, on your back. Good boy,” he praises when Bucky follows directions quickly.  
T’Challa pulls off his shirt, but leaves his pants on, before climbing over him, covering Bucky’s body with his. He presses kisses all over Bucky’s face, chuckling when their noses bump.

“T’Challa, please. I need you.”

“Alright, alright.” T’Challa presses one last kiss to his lips before getting out of the bed to grab supplies. “Get out of bed and strip for me baby.”

Bucky hurried to comply, watching T’Challa watch him, as more and more of his skin became visible. He didn't put on much of a show; T’Challa hadn't asked him to. It was more than enough to watch Bucky shiver under his gaze.

“The underwear, too, baby.”

Bucky shucked off his damp briefs. T’Challa watched him for a moment longer before allowing him to stretch out on the bed.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, running his hands up and down Bucky’s bare chest.

He shook his head, escaping the fog in his brain for a moment. “I’m not.”

“You are,” T’Challa growled, pinching his nipples roughly, before soothing them with his tongue. “Baby, if i say you’re beautiful, I mean it. And you’re gonna listen to me, aren't you?”

“Yes. Yes, sir.”

“Good boy.” They kissed and touched a little longer, though Bucky was growing in patient. T’Challa gripped his throat lightly when he started to get out of hand, which calmed him down quickly enough.

He too was ready, and eventually asked Bucky to spread his legs when he was sufficiently relaxed.

T’Challa poured lube into his hand, Bucky’s eyes tracing the motions of his body. He was needy, so needy, begging, pleading for T’Challa’s touch.

He traced a finger over Bucky’s hole, and Bucky pushed against it greedily. “Fuck - fuck I need it, yes,” he moaned when T’Challa finally pressed a finger inside him.

“Stop moving,” T’Challa chastised. “I might have to tie you up,” he joked.

But Bucky’s eyes rolled back in his head. “Next time,” he moaned. “Please.”

This time, T’Challa was the one to shiver, as he massaged a second finger into Bucky’s body.

Bucky had been begging for his cock for a few moments now, claiming he was ready. But there was no way in hell T’Challa was hurting his baby, and he told him so.  
“I - I like the burn,” he gasped as T’Challa pressed up against his prostrate.

He paused. “Do you? Like it? Or was that something he liked?”

“No. No. Don’t bring his name in here. Please,” Bucky whispered. “I told you I wouldn't lie to you anymore. So believe me.”

T’Challa kissed him, long and hard. Claiming. “Alright, I’m sorry. And I believe you.”

“Good,” Bucky said, squeaking as T’Challa twisted his fingers inside of him.

He grinned. “I guess your ready for me, then?”

“Stop talking shit and get inside me,” Bucky moaned.

“Hmm,” T’Challa teased. “You sure?”

Bucky deigned not to answer verbally, instead spreading his legs wider and bending one knee, relaxing fully against the pillows. He gave T’Challa his most seductive smile, before fully baring his neck.

“Fuck,” T’Challa growled possessively, sliding on a condom quickly.

He spread Bucky’s legs wider, and slowly began to press into his body.

Bucky groaned at his entrance, attempting to push him deeper, faster. But T’Challa took his time, waiting a moment when he was fully inside his body.

He thrusted into him slowly, gripping his hand tightly as he covered Bucky’s body with his own.

“Faster,” Bucky begged, and T’Challa figured it was time to oblige.

T’Challa took him faster, and Bucky began moaning loudly, clawing at his back to hold him closer.

“Please, more, please,” he almost sobbed.

“If I knew you made sounds like these baby, I would've taken you in my office weeks ago.”

Bucky groaned loudly, pushing back on T’Challa’s cock.

“Oh?” T’Challa smirked. “You’d like that wouldn't you. You want me to fuck you in my office. Make all these pretty sounds with all the people just outside the door. And if someone comes in, I’d have to shove you under my desk, make you suck on my cock to keep you quiet.”

His words were punctuated with harsh thrusts, and beneath him, Bucky scrambles for purchase on the bed. “Please,” Bucky begged. “Please I want that. I want you to -“ He shut his mouth and his eyes.

“Tell me,” T’Challa commands. When Bucky doesn’t answer, T’Challa presses a hand to the back of Bucky’s throat. He gasps as some of of his air is cut off, but to T’Challa’s surprise, pushes his neck further into his hold.

“I - I want you to fuck me in your office. Against the window,” Bucky manages to say, eyes shut tightly from the onslaught of sensations.

T’Challa curled his fingers in Bucky’s hair. “Against the window? So someone can see? You want somebody else to see what I’m doing to you right now?”

Bucky whimpered, continuously crying out as T’Challa thrust into him. He reached down to fist his cock, already that much closer from his words. But T’Challa pushed his hand away.

“No, baby. Can you be a good boy for me and come on just my cock? You didn't need any help earlier.”

Somehow, Bucky’s flushed body got even redder. “I’ll be good,” he panted, and T’Challa smiled.

He really put his back into it then, wanting to see his baby come. Bucky was so beautiful like this, fucked out and on the brink of orgasm.

T’Challa had a theory, and decided to test it, sliding his hand up Bucky’s body once again to grip his throat, cutting off his air supply. Bucky blinked his eyes open in surprise, and when T’Challa knew he had his attention, he spoke.

“Come for me. Be a good boy and come for me, Bucky.”

And he did. Bucky came with a near shout, eyes rolling back in his head. His pleasure exploded almost violently, but as soon as his orgasm ended, his body quieted. He floated.

T’Challa thrusted gently into Bucky a couple of more times, on the prepuce from watching his baby.

“T’Challa?” Bucky opened his eyes. “Mark me. Make me yours.”

He groaned, sliding out of Bucky’s body carefully. T’Challa slid the condom off, and stroked his cock, once twice. “The thing is, you’re already mine.”

Bucky reached up shakily to cover his hand with his own, and T’Challa came all over Bucky’s chest, vision nearly whiting out.

For a moment, they just listened to each other breathe. Then, T’Challa headed to the bathroom to grab a warm towel, cleaning off Bucky’s body.

He had a sleepy smile on his face. Bucky looked utterly blissed out, and soft, so soft. “Thank you,” he whispered.

T’Challa pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek in response, before crawling into bed with him. They wrapped up tightly in one another arms.

*

Four days later, T’Challa took Bucky against the glass window of his office. The glass survived. T’Challa needed a day off.

*  
T’Challa’s best friend was Natasha Romanoff, a brilliant executive from their branch in Europe. They didn't see each other as often as they liked, but when she heard about Bucky, she made a special visit.

Bucky’s Steve wanted to pay him a visit as well, so they set up a dinner party.

Steve and Natasha got on like a house on fire, and both T’Challa and Bucky could tell. By the end of the night, the two of them were chatting with each other more than the rest of them. But both Steve and Natasha approved of their friends counterparts, and that’s all that mattered.

*  
“I love you,” Bucky said one day, a few months later as he poured his morning coffee. Somewhere along the way, Bucky had moved in, neither of them quite sure when it happened.

T’Challa looked up from his newspaper. “I know. And I love you.”

He grinned at him, and T’Challa had never felt warmer.

_Two years later_

T’Challa had a whole plan laid out to propose to Bucky. It was the right time, he knew it. Bucky was it for T’Challa. He'd never fallen for anyone as quickly and deeply as he had for Bucky, and after only a couple years together, T’Challa couldn't imagine himself with anyone else.

The ring burned a hole in his pocket for weeks. Bucky loved being warm, loved going to the beach, so T’Challa was taking him for a summery weekend away. He told Bucky it was for work, but he was thinking more along the lines of…play.

If Bucky said yes, that is.

If someone asked, T’Challa would say he was confident. But truthfully, a tiny seed of worry was growing in his chest. He knew Bucky loved him, without a doubt. But he was so young, he could have anyone. T’Challa was a selfish man though, with those he loved. So he'd ask anyway.

And right now, he was waiting to do just that. Bucky had went out to grab a new toothbrush before they left for the weekend, it had been over an hour though, and he wasn't answering his phone. T’Challa always worried about Bucky, but right now his worry was in overdrive. Something wasn't right.

He fidgeted on the sofa for another thirty minutes before he heard the phone ring.

“Hello?” he asked, an unfamiliar number.

“Hello, sir. This is Mount Sinai. We’re calling about a James Barnes?”

T’Challa felt his heart stop, Bucky’s engagement ring setting his pocket afire. “Where is he? Is he - “

“He’ll be fine. He’s a bit of a hero actually. Pulled a little girl out of the middle of the street. She would've died. But he vaulted in front of the truck and pulled them out of the way. He landed hard on his left arm. It’s broken and he’s on painkillers, that’s why we called.” The nurse said.

“Oh thank god.” T’Challa thanked the nurse profusely, and got the car to drive him down to Mount Sinai.

He tapped his foot nervously the entire ride over. T’Challa was glad to know Bucky was alright, but he disliked hospitals. He hated for Bucky to feel uncomfortable.

The driver pulled up to the hospital, and T’Challa rushed out, too impatient to wait for the driver to open the door. He ignored the reporters gathered outside shouting headlines about the ‘millionaires boyfriend’.

Bucky was thousands things more than that. Though he was his.

The nurses inside directed him to Bucky, and he followed silently.

He peaked his head into the room.

Bucky sat on a hospital bed, propped up. No wires or machines, thankfully - they were most likely just hiding him from the reporters. Nearly his entire left arm was wrapped in a cast, and T’Challa felt his heart clench. Bucky usually slept on his left side. There was a gaggle of nurses surrounding him, flipping their hair and giggling. He rolled his eyes. Even loopy, Bucky always attracted a crowd. Over the past couple of years, T’Challa had done his best to help improve Bucky’s self esteem.

And it worked. Bucky took compliments with a kind smile, nothing more, and flirted like it was his job some of the time. Of course, those were the times when Bucky was itching to be taken over his knee, showing out just for some attention. T’Challa did it gladly. The only compliments that Bucky blushed at now were his, and that’s just the way he liked it.

Bucky was doing it now, but T’Challa figured he'd cut his boy some slack. He moved into the room finally, and the crowd of women parted like the Red Sea.

“Could we have the room?” T’Challa said quietly, though everyone heard. “Then we’ll be on our way.”

He thanked them as they exited, finally turning toward Bucky. “Hey, darling.”

Bucky smiled at him. “Hi, ‘Challa.”

He leaned down to press a kiss to his dark hair, but Bucky pulled him down beside him with his good arm.

“I missed you,” he said by way of explanation.

T’Challa snorted. “I missed you, baby. You almost made my anxiety flare up,” he joked, but it fell a little flat.

“I’m sorry I worried you.” Bucky said, kissing T’Challa lightly on the lips. “But I’ll be alright,” he grimaced. “In a few months.”

“I know babe. Maybe I can think of something to cheer you up.”

Bucky nodded, starting to pull himself out of bed. “Yes, yes - “

“Wait. Wait.” T’Challa got off of the bed and down on one knee, puling the box from his pocket.

Bucky gasped loud enough to send a few curious heads poking into the room.

“Bucky. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment I fell in love with you, but I am reminded of it more and more everyday. When you tell jokes to make me laugh. When I’m privileged enough to wake up to your beautiful eyes. When we bump hips in the bathroom when we brush our teeth.”

He chuckles, looking down at T’Challa with bright, dampened eyes.

“You’re brilliant and kind and gorgeous. Too good. For me, for this city - you showed that today. But I’m greedy. I remember when I asked you to be mine. Now, I want to ask if you, James Barnes will be my husband?”

“T’Challa,” Bucky whispered. “Yes. God yes. Yes. I love you.”

Bucky climbed out of bed the same time T’Challa stood up, unused to the weight of the cast - falling, right into his arms. He wouldn't have it any other way.

They laughed together, capturing each others lips in a happy kiss. Their faces were wet, though neither of them were quite sure who the tears belonged to. It didn't matter.

T’Challa slid the ring onto Bucky’s finger. It was simple, a darker, gunmetal gray. It was engraved, simply saying ‘mine’ on the inside, which made Bucky blush furiously.

He bent to kiss Bucky’s fingers, since his left arm couldn't move much.

“Looks great with the cast doesn’t it?” Bucky laughed.

“I think so. You’re a hero. My fiancee is a hero.” T’Challa laughed happily.

Bucky didn't lose the smile.

*  
He was still smiling, months later, as he pressed his lips to T’Challa’s at their wedding.

It was a quiet affair, they almost eloped, really. The tabloids exploded when word got out about their engagement. Bucky didn't mind the press, and T’Challa didn't mind if Bucky didn’t. But it was the principal of the the thing.

Their respective families attended; Bucky’s sister Rebecca and T’Challa’s sister Shuri became fast friends, laughing and spreading joy wherever they went. Steve and Natasha were their respective best ‘men’, and they had a hell of a lot of fun at their joint bachelor party the two put on.

Paris, was the location. Bucky had always wanted to go, and they figured they could start their honeymoon early. It was beautiful. The weather, the venue. Their family and friends. But nothing, nothing was more beautiful than Bucky’s gorgeous smile as they walked down the isle together.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Bucky laughed in his arms during their first dance at their reception.

T’Challa kissed him, because he was his husband for gods sake. _His husband_.

“You wanna take this party upstairs husband?” Bucky asked against his ear.

Natasha, Steve, Rebecca and Shuri chastised them loudly for skipping out on their party so early. But this was Paris and they were married.

Cut them some lack.

*

“If we have kids, can I still be…”

“My boy?” T’Challa answered for him. They’d been married a year and a half now, it was about time this came up.

Bucky nodded, staring intently into the pot he was stirring at the stove.

He put down the novel he was reading, and came up to wrap Bucky in a hug. “Darling, you’ll always be mine. With fifty kids or none. As long as I can say it. Alright?”

“Let’s go with fifty.” Bucky said with a grin.

“Fifty what?”

“Kids,” he supplied helpfully.

T’Challa snorted. “We’ll never have sex again.”

Bucky’s eyes got huge. “I change my mind.”

After that, they talked about artificial insemination. While they both agreed it would be lovely to have a child that looked like them, Bucky thought they could do some good and adopt.

“They’ll be ours, no matter what.”

A couple of weeks later, and they were finally getting to meet some kids. All of the children were adorable, and T’Challa had to continuously remind himself that he couldn't just take all the kids back home with him.

Bucky wasn't much better, passing out treats when the officiates weren't looking.

But it wasn't until a pair of kids approached them, did they know.

A tiny blond boy barreled into T’Challa’s arms. “Well hello, there.”

“Hi,” he giggled. His name was Tate and he was a year and three months.

“He has asthma. Just letting you know. If you take him.”

Bucky kneeled down next to the owner of the small voice, a little girl with pretty brown skin and even prettier eyes. “What’s your name?”

“Talia. You have to take care of Tate,” her voice wobbled.

“Are you friends?” T’Challa asked, though his question was answered when the baby reached out to him.

“I look out for him. The other babies don't always play with him cause he’s so little. I make sure he has me.”

“You love him?” Bucky asked. Talia nods. “I know what it’s like to love a sick little punk.”

“Did you just call this baby a punk?”

“Yes.”

“Punk!” Tate exclaims, making the three of them laugh.

They only intended on adopting one child, but after the paperwork processed, they ended up with a family.

Soon, the penthouse was littered with baby toys and tutus. Bucky woke up with paint in his hair, and T’Challa constantly smelled like baby powder.

T’Challa had to learn that he would rarely be able to read in complete silence at home any longer. Bucky no longer had any clean shirts.

But when they heard Talia talk loudly to her friends at preschool about how much she loves her dads, when she crawled into their bed at night.

When T’Challa came home to see both Bucky and Tate dozing on the sofa, a protective arm curled around his waist.

Those were some of the many moments that they were so glad they'd made their choice.

*

“I remember when we did this.” T’Challa said, lifting Bucky up and onto the desk at work. Bucky had long since gotten his own corner office, but for old times sake, they usually fucked in T’Challa’s.

“You mean last week,” Bucky managed in between a moan as T’Challa kissed his throat.

“You’ve got jokes, huh?” He slipped a possessive hand around Bucky’s neck, and he shivered. “I mean the first time. When we kissed.”

Bucky smiled. “How could I forget. That began the happiest time of my life. And I’m still in it.”

T’Challa grinned. “As am I.”

“It might be strange to say, but I’m glad I went through that hell. With Alex. I had to go through that pain to get to the other side. To magnificence. To you. God, I love you.” Bucky said, voice breaking in the slightest.

“I’m not. I really am not. But I’m glad you brought me that coffee, way back when. I’m glad I got to stare into your blue eyes. Sometimes I thought if I looked anymore, I’d drown.”

Bucky chuckles.

“And I love you, Buck.”

The kissed lazily awhile longer, basking in their emotions and a slow day at work, though eventually, they separated. Talia had a ballet recital that evening.

“Our baby’s got a solo!” T’Challa exclaimed as they left the office.

“Of course she does,” Bucky laughed. “She’s your daughter.”

“Damn right.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much for reading! Let me know your thoughts below. Follow me on Tumblr at heckyeahwinterpanther for more T'Chucky and some more of this AU if ya like it!


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